


The last long lap is the hardest

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dark Tony Stark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, Stream of Consciousness, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17421038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He knows what they’re doing is statutory rape, he knows the law, and he’s not stupid.





	The last long lap is the hardest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And The Rest Is Rust and Stardust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368561) by Anonymous. 



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and nothing portrayed within is reflective of my real-life opinions or attitudes.
> 
> [This has a companion fic by another anonymous author; it contains Tony’s POV.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368561/chapters/30613836) The other fic came first. This one is only a love letter to the author because their idea was so great. Go read the other story now, and leave kudos and comments.

17)

He knows what they’re doing is statutory rape, he knows the law, and he’s not stupid. But still, he can’t make himself stop. Because this is not a question of right or wrong, and Tony sees him, really _sees_ him, like no one did before. 

How could he end something precious like that? 

1)

Peter usually didn't like older men. He had only ever had crushes his age and longed for their hairless chests, long limbs (too long sometimes, almost gangly was best) and the scent of locker rooms, forbidden beers in the art room, and brand-new sneakers. He never told anyone about it though, not Ned, who had known him since they both were toddlers, or Michelle, who was gay herself and not afraid to tell anyone who dared to ask about the rainbow pin on her black jacket. There was just never the right moment, he told himself. Not between saving the city and sneaking around Aunt May and trying not to get unmasked by either his friends or random villains. And then there was the fact that this just didn’t fit. He couldn’t be a superhero—because that’s what he was, really, after all— _and_ gay at the same time. It was just too much. Labels were for losers anyway, at least that’s what Michelle always told him. And love was, too, especially when there was no one in this city like Peter.

Well, except Mr. Stark.

8)

Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark.

2) 

Peter had worshipped Mr. Stark for years. Since he’d heard about him in kindergarten, he’d followed his life and devoured every article about him. He didn’t tell anyone about that either, because being the biggest fan of one of the biggest heroes alive was kinda… not cool. He was no little kid any longer, he was almost grown-up, the only man in the house since Uncle Ben’s death.

And then the legendary Tony Stark approached him, took him to Germany, and Peter had fought right next to so many other heroes of his childhood. He’d helped, somehow. He’d fought and he’d been hit and then he’d been transferred back to the city where Mr. Stark had put a leash on him and, fuck (Sorry, Aunt May) it wasn’t fair because he was not a pet or a baby that needed a leash. Or if it had to be a leash, he at least wanted it to be held by Mr. Stark, not that friend of his with a grumpy face that belied his name. 

It took an almost sunken ferry and a plane crash and almost dying after that to make his mentor change his mind. Somehow. They were still not equals, and Peter knew it. Not even when Mr. Stark allowed him to use his suit to full potential. He was always somewhere else, with someone else, not with Peter, except for some precious mentoring moments. It was excruciating. 

Especially when Peter finally and really understood that he craved Mr. Stark’s presence because of something more than the wish for a father figure in his life. 

13)

“Because sometimes I think you see me; that you’re the only one who does, when the rest of the world is busy looking right through me.”

9)

In the next few days and weeks, Peter circles the streets around the Tower whenever he has time, and now that he doesn’t dare to enter any longer, he has a lot of time on his hands. He wants to climb the walls the building and the walls of his room, when Aunt May asks what’s wrong, and he just can’t bring herself to tell her. She wouldn’t possibly understand.  
He tells Michelle to take his phone during school and puts it on the kitchen counter when he’s at home. May likes it and thinks he’s trying some fancy phone diet, but he’s only trying a diet from Mr. Stark, who’s the worst temptation ever created. 

His daily circles after school around Stark Tower become laps. He’s a runner, and he’s running for his boring life, from his boring life, where he’s just Peter Parker, fifteen, a nerdy nobody who’s never kissed anyone in his life—except a man over twice his age. 

Before he can follow this thought any further, he storms home. 

And then, two months after, he receives a single message by Mr. Stark. Peter circles his chiming phone until May asks him _again_ what’s wrong with that remorseful look on her face, and so he just snatches it from the counter and flees to his room where he opens the message with trembling fingers.

‘I want you. Nothing is ok without you.’

And there is Peter, thinking he was to young for a heart attack.

3)

The man was lonely in his glass castle, that much was sure. Peter could relate to that. Somehow it felt like his own home, after the incident with Ben. It was equally deserted although statues and sculptures and paintings and designer chairs were carefully put in all the empty spaces and corners instead of knick knacks and posters and teddy bears to make the void feel less stifling.

The strangest thing about the place was the lack of people. There was the AI and sometimes Mr. Hogan dropped by to see if Mr. Stark was still alive. Most of the time the tower was empty, just humming with loneliness and grief, although Peter never understood how someone so rich could both be so lonely and so mournful. When he suggested to Mr. Stark to get a cat, the man had just laughed. 

“That’s not a good idea, kiddo.”

Peter knew with absolute certainty cats could cure anything, and so that was another thing he didn’t get at all.

10)

He’s taken the way so often in his dreams that he can climb the glass front with closed eyes now. The window to Mr. Stark’s bedroom is open. Peter peeps through the curtains, the familiar rhythm in his ear, and watches Mr. Stark sleep for a while. He’s curled into a ball, his hair is longer, he only wears sweatpants. In his king sized bed he looks strangely lost, like a walnut shell in a sea of sheets, and it makes Peter’s throat tight and his heart heavy. 

Peter enters the room and tiptoes to the bed, holding his breath, then crawls onto the mattress. It barely bends under his weight. While he crouches next to Mr. Stark, chin in hand, still watching, he knows that he shouldn’t be here. 

Fifteen-year-olds don’t climb billionaires’ towers and break into their homes. Fifteen-year-olds don’t behave like peeping toms. Not even fifteen-year-olds who are Spiderman. What is he doing here?

Mr. Stark shifts in his sleep and sits up, eyes open and alert, and before he can rationally think about it, Peter’s hand whips forward and covers Mr. Stark’s mouth. Hot breath tickles his palm. Peter stares at him. So this is it, they’re going to talk about what happened. And he knows that’s exactly the reason why he’s here—because Mr. Stark texted him he missed him, but Peter needs to hear him say it out loud. 

“Did you mean it?” he asks, not moving his hand, but removing the mask with his other. Mr. Stark’s eyes narrow. “When you said you wanted me, that nothing was the same without me, did you mean it?” God, he sounds so unsure, and so young, and his stupid heart skips a beat when Mr. Stark nods, and he takes his hand away. “Why?”  
“Because you are beautiful, and I need you,” Mr. Stark simply says, and how could Peter not kiss him after that? 

14)

He shouldn’t blabber like this, nobody likes people like that. They adore the brooding heroes, the ones that are like Mr. Stark, mysterious and strong. Mr. Stark stares at him and Peter wants to hide behind the heavy comforter, but he stares back. Peter is strong too. He’s endured so much. And Mr. Stark is so handsome, and he said he wanted him here. Also, he has no reason to keep Peter around if he doesn’t want to. Peter has earned his place in this bed, right?

Has he?

“Mr. Stark, do you love me?”

6)

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself every evening when he hangs in Mr. Stark’s lab, and watches him tinker with his suit, or with Peter’s suit, or with some unnamed device that could one day end world hunger, or just sit there, brooding over a complicated issue Peter is too young and stupid to help with yet. That’s what he tells himself when he stares at Mr. Stark’s back until Mr. Stark tells him to get lost and do homework or study Spanish vocab. 

When Mr. Stark wipes the sweat off of his face and it leaves a dark trace of grease and dust, Peter swallows hard. 

When Mr. Stark focuses on a problem so intensely that he forgets Peter is even in the room, Peter can stare at his ass undisturbed and dream.

When Mr. Stark turns around and Peter remembers he wears nothing but a dirty white undershirt, he flees, locks himself in the bathroom to take care of himself, and for once he’s thankful that there’s no one around to hear him moan Mr. Stark’s name. 

4)

He was no cat, but Mr. Stark started to treat him like an annoying housepet nevertheless. When Peter hung out at the lab, playing the Switch or messing up the kitchen or just doing calculus homework in the living room—the TV was never on and the coffee table was big enough to host all his books—Mr. Stark grumbled about him not having a home or that he shouldn’t leave eraser bits on the mahogany. And like a cat, Peter decided to ignore all the grumbling and complaining and stuck around. Mr. Stark had invited him to hang out at the tower, right? Also, he couldn’t leave him alone to mope all day, not in this empty, shiny, terrible tower where voices amplified in the halls and even the houseplants looked too lush to be real. 

He was a good kid, after all. 

First, he made sure to leave a bit of mess everywhere, just to see the crinkle between Mr. Stark’s brows more often. It was better than the blank expression he wore 90% of the time, so dirty shoes and scraps of paper it was. Then, when he noticed that Mr. Stark emptied some of the more expensive wine bottles a bit too fast, he practiced his remorseful expression. Last, he asked Aunt May to teach him how to cook, only simple dishes like mac and cheese or chili, but anything was better than the takeout stuff Mr. Stark usually ate. “Are you trying to impress a girl?” May asked. Peter mumbled something that could be a yes or a no; she laughed and didn’t ask again. 

Sometimes he caught Mr. Stark looking at him in the strangest way. He wondered when he’d be kicked out like the stray cat he was. 

11)

Peter has done his fair share of exciting things. Sucking a man’s tongue and touching him, feeling every inch of his body, undressing him is something else. It’s more exciting than swinging from building to building—and far more difficult. Peter has no idea what he’s doing, but like with everything he does, he tries his best. Mr. Stark doesn’t seem to mind that Peter can’t keep his fingers to himself and doesn’t laugh, not even when Peter gets out of the suit and can’t hide his excitement any longer because he’s as naked as Mr. Stark. He laughs when Peter stumbles against the bed, but stops when Peter kisses him again, and drags him closer, and Peter feels that Mr. Stark is not unaffected by what they’re doing. “You’re the reason for this.” Mr. Stark sighs, rubs himself against Peter and touches Peter’s face, and because of his gentleness for a moment Peter doesn’t know whether to cry or flee or continue. Before he can come to a conclusion, Mr. Stark’s strong arms pull him even closer. They fall into a steady rhythm that makes Peter’s mind go blank, and his loins burn before he spills himself onto Mr. Stark’s lap, only moments before Mr. Stark grunts into his ear and douses him in hot seed.

Afterwards, he lies there and watches Mr. Stark clean him up, his limbs like lead. He's so happy. Maybe that’s the reason he asks. 

15)

Oh god help him, he fucked up. 

5)

Michelle knows that something is going on, and when she asks in her special Michelle way, he tells her without telling her too much. That he has a crush on someone who doesn’t have a crush on him, and that he’s desperate he’ll be sent away because the other person is so much more mature and he’s so boring. He doesn’t tell her that he’s Spiderman, he’s not stupid. She knows he’s only telling her half of the story, she’s not stupid.

“God, I don’t want it to end,” he says. He sighs like the heroine of a shitty romance novel.

“Then make them fall in love with you,” she answers as she scribbles something in her notebook.

He watches her and wonders how he should ever accomplish such a task. He’s sure he’d be able to beat three more Vultures easier instead. Mr. Stark is a legend, a hero, a _man_ , and Peter is a boy who hasn’t even shaved yet. He should wait. He will wait until he’s older and more mature and a man himself and then he’ll find a way, he thinks. 

12)

“Do you always sleep with teenage boys?”

“Never. Not since I was one, too.”

“What makes me special?”

He needs to know. 

7)

When he enters the workshop again, Mr. Stark is already waiting, with a look in his eyes Peter has never seen before. He presses Peter against one of the desks, leans closer and _sighs_ , all while Peter trembles because Mr. Stark is so close and so tall and so strong, and he feels cornered and protected and threatened all at once. 

Then Mr. Stark kisses him, and the kiss is harder and wetter than Peter has ever imagined in his wildest dreams. He can’t help but moan, and when he opens his mouth, Mr. Stark’s tongue slips in to eat him alive. Three-day-stubble scratches Peter’s skin, one strong hand holds him tight while the other rakes through his hair—

And then something clicks and Peter struggles free to run, the ghost of Mr. Stark on his hips, on his lips, in his mind, heart hammering in his chest in the strangest rhythm. 

16)

When Mr. Stark eventually opens his mouth, Peter prepares for inevitable. He’s a stray cat. A teenager. A fucking child. The room turns ten degrees colder all of a sudden.  
But Mr. Stark doesn’t tell him to get out, he touches his cheek again with his calloused fingers, a small smile on his lips. “Only you kid. Only and always you,” he says, and Peter suddenly realizes he can’t stop smiling. 

18)

 _“My car is limping, Dolores Haze,_  
And the last long lap is the hardest,  
And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,  
And the rest is rust and stardust.”  
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [violetnyte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnytevioletnyte) for editing!


End file.
